


Grimoires of Lost Sectors

by Jay2KWinger



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-10 07:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay2KWinger/pseuds/Jay2KWinger
Summary: In hidden places, powerful foes lurk. There are grimoires that speak of these creatures. Look on them now, oh readers mine.(Fan-lore for Destiny 2 Lost Sectors)





	1. The Atrium (Skexis, Outcast Captain)

How many times must I fall?

Four-armed once, I failed my Baron. I was docked. Became a dreg. But I was obedient, I licked my wounds, I stole many things for my Baron. Our skiff hung heavy with prizes. Our Kell's ketch fat with treasures. Even as the City That Docks sent their ghouls to steal back what we stole first, I endured. I earned my arms back. Became a vandal again.

Then our Kell was dead. We heard tales of new riches, to bring the SIVA to the new machine-god, to become perfected. My Baron was intrigued, but our brethren in other Houses were wary, so we held back. We saw those tempted by the mad archon turned into abominations of metal and flesh. And when we refused their cursed offerings, they came for us, to make offerings of us instead. My Baron was slain, much of our crew was killed, and so I took our skiff and the rest of our crew and I ran.

The remnants of our House called me coward, but could not dock me again. I had survived. We needed leaders, and so I was allowed on sufferance. I was named Captain. Given command of skiff I already had. Insulted to my face, mocked behind my back. None of my House would follow me, but for my crew. I had saved them from death. So they would follow me anywhere.

Then Dusk came. All Houses to be under one banner. All others to burn but for that of a new House. I wanted to refuse, but my crew was starving. Swallowed pride and knelt to a new Kell. Burned old flag and wore the twilight banner.

Then City falls. New Kell orders me to claim territory. But Red Legion is everywhere. Humans fight for every inch. This is not what I wanted for my crew, to go forth and die for arrogant Kell's pride. I let my skiff burn. Take my crew and hide, beneath a sniper's bolt hole. Dusk burns my skiff, hunts for me.

Fallen thrice over. Outcast. But no longer. This place is mine. Here is where I will stand, or where I will fall for the last time.


	2. Shaft 13 (Calzar, Scarred Captain)

Once-- Banners meant something. Gold for glory of Kings. Sky for honor of Winter. Green for justice and Judgment. Red for Devils and their wars. Night for savagery of Wolves. Gray for wisdom of Rain. Earth for strength of Stone. Every House a color. Every House a legacy. Every House, renowned.

Once-- Our House was feared. On worlds lost to the Whirlwind. We were mighty. We were warriors. We bore the marks of combat with pride, as befitted our name. We were difficult to kill, that was the essence of our name. We were House Scars.

Once-- We bowed to no Kell. But Eliksni warriors clamored to join our House, to wear our banner. Toughest earned right to banner, bore their marks, their scars. Fought for Houses with glimmer. Fought for Kells and Barons with treasure. We fought and we were feared. We were victorious and we were rewarded for it.

Once.

Now we are Fallen. The best of us are gone, stomped under by imperial soldiers, marched over by machines, flayed and tortured by rotten worm-things. What treasures we had left are stolen from us, either betrayed by others of our kind, or our bones picked by ghouls shining with Light.

Now we fight for a purpose, rather than a reward, and that purpose is survival. No other Houses to hire Scars, only one House now. What choice did we have? So our blades and our guns serve this House, so that we may live, fight, earn our marks and our ration, and see another day.

Now we bow to a Kell. The strength wanes as ether dwindles. There is no honor in this world anymore, and time has taught us there is no justice in it, else the Great Machine would not have abandoned us. That is the harsh wisdom in this time without Rain. There is no glory to be found, and what glory there is, belongs to the Kell. Where a spectrum of banners once flew, now there is only ash and twilight, the purple of desperation and Dusk.

We all bear marks now. We fight and we will survive. Whatever legions come, whatever monsters stalk, we will fight on.

For we are difficult to kill. That is the essence of our name.


	3. Sanctum of Bones (Pandrok, Pillar of Nothing)

Stalwart Pandrok, beacon of strength!  
Born of blissful hate, steeped in reviled joy  
Created to wage war and drink the Light

Proud Pandrok, puissant warrior!  
You charged your weapon in the souls of dying stars  
You sharpened your sword on the bones of slain worlds

Fervent Pandrok, faithful son!  
Serving in the swarming legions, feeding the worms  
Brought to court, you bent the knee to your king

Your king is dead. Long live your queen.

My court could use one such as you  
A powerful warrior to hunt down our foes  
A sword capable of cutting away their strength  
A bastion to support our work with your might

But you have taken your final shape  
You are sworn to a king lain dead  
You will not bend your knee to another

Loyal Pandrok, listen--  
I will not ask you to forswear your oaths  
If you will not serve a queen,  
Then you shall serve oblivion

Go forth, empty one--  
I name you Pandrok, Pillar of Nothing  
Go forth  
Erase the Light


	4. Methane Flush (Karugul)

Look upon these mewling wretches, my sisters.   
Their lives are brief, a mere blink in the cosmic eye.   
They lack the press of numbers--   
_\--like these desperate bugs scattered in uncaring winds--_  
They lack the might of empire--   
_\--like those weighty brutes swathed in gas, oil, and armor--_  
They lack the weft of time and space--   
_\--like the machines of brass and quantum and protozoa--_  
And yet they live, they strive on against this universe. 

It was to these creatures that a Traveler of the Sky came.   
It came to them and it gave to them such paltry wonders.   
And when their Sky-god died, they should have perished,   
Scoured from the profane weave of this ill-shaped reality,   
Unwoven into their matter and energy--   
_\--and things for which there are no words--_  
\--and fed to the worms as fuel for our purpose. 

And yet... 

And yet, look at them. Beset upon by the universe,   
Under siege from all sides, broken but unbowed,   
They refuse to surrender to the inevitability of our might.   
When they came to the attention of something greater,   
When it turned its baleful eye upon them,   
They spat in it and still they strive. 

How curious. 

So and so, my sisters, we must strive as well.   
We must seek to understand, as our Queen has decreed.   
To discover the sword logic She needs to travel Deep.   
To test the shape of this place and the things in it--   
_\--all things, great and small, inert and alive, and in between--_  
\--that we might find the truth and the proof She craves. 

We must test ourselves as well, my sisters,   
For have we not seen our Sovereigns and Gods do this--   
Declare their love through war and pain and poison--   
And find the proper shape for ourselves and our brood.   
Only in this way can we unravel the false tapestry. 

It is in this place I shall make a nest for myself, my sisters.   
Build a place for worms and larvae, birth forth a multitude--   
_\--thralls and acolytes and ogres and knights to cull the weak--_  
\--and it is here that I shall strive, much like these pink things,   
To comprehend the shapes and weave the understanding we need. 

So and so, let it be.


	5. DS Quarters-2 (Thaan'Hul)

Axioms of War--  
Carved in ruin by Thaan'Hul--  
Knight of the Osmium Order--

I serve the Hive by walking through war and slaughtering the chattel. Aiat: War is the whetstone upon which we are sharpened.

With one eye, I seek the weak things that have no worms. With another, I find the chinks in their armor, where I might stick my sword. With a third, I look upon the glory of my Sovereigns, my Gods, my Worm. Aiat: What touches the Sky, what lives in Light, deserves the blade.

With each life I cut down, the crest of my skull grows longer. My fangs drip with my lust for battle. There is nothing more intimate than the clash of battle, as I make a connection between myself and my prey, bridged by the span of my sword. Aiat: The universe dances on the edge of the sword logic.

The world exists in a current shape, blasphemous and unfit. I am not the Unraveler that unmakes this world. I am not the Weaver that can shift the looms of reality. I am the Blade that cuts the profane tapestry apart. Aiat: The purpose of my sword is to cut the knots holding my prey to this world.

When my worm hungers, I feel weakness within me. I draw upon this pain and I express it outward upon my enemies. When my worm chews on my bones, I see our people's past as the prey of the universe. I draw upon this knowledge and I become the predator scything down and culling the weak from the world. Aiat: Through the logic of the sword, the weak becomes the strong and the prey becomes the predator.

When there is nothing for me to cut, I feel my worm gnaw at me, I hear the hungry growl of my Sovereign. When I am cutting away the filth and the weak, I feel a tranquility inside me. It is only in combat and devastation that I know calm. Aiat: A sword is a tool of war, thus the only peace for me is war.


	6. Scavenger's Den (Graxus, Blind Captain)

They called us one of the "servant Houses" in times past. We were respected, though we lacked the strength of Houses like Stone or Wolves. So we were vassals to other Houses. The foolish called us parasites, seeing only outward submission. We are the House of the Blind, but it was them who did not see.

Our eyes served the Kells of the High Houses, alongside Judgment scribes and Rain prophets and Scarred mercenaries. Where Judgment meted justice, where Rain forecast futures, where Scars battled, the Blind kept secrets. When the Kell-We-Served needed the count of another Kell's skiffs and blades, it was our mouths who whispered to him the knowledge. If the Kell-We-Served needed something dealt with in shadow, it was our knives that went to work.

Thus it was for ages innumerable, even after the Fall began. Kells and Barons knew of our merits. All others saw only an advisor of a lesser House. Few suspected just how strong House Blind was. Our shadow fleets, built with our masters' foundries and flying their own banners. Our hidden strongholds, full of treasures we'd legally plundered from the Houses we served. Our subtle hand, guiding the thoughts of the Kells-We-Served with patient and careful whispers.

Now there is a new Kell-We-Serve. But this twilight Kell is different. No questions are asked of us, the faithful Blind who see everything. The Dusk Kell does not ask us for the knowledge we have. No, the Dusk Kell listens instead to whispers that come from starlight. The Kell wants servants, yes, but not free ones. The Kell wants soldiers, unquestioning, willing to go forth and die.

Let the Kell scheme. House Blind will do as it always has, and keep its secrets. In shadowed places, behind walls of light, we will keep our treasures and our secrets. When the Light was with us, our eyes were shadowed to keep our sight true. When Darkness fell upon us, our eyes opened wider to continue to find our path. And now in times of Dusk, it is only the Blind who truly see both Light and Dark.


End file.
